Sanders Sides OneShots

Their Hate... (Moxiety)

Unedited

This is set before Virgil revealed his name. So just putting that out there.

T.W. This is angst, and there are mentions of an attack, plus descriptions of the attack, and mentions of blood and self harm.

His gaze was cast down as he spoke to the other male, his hands were covered by his sleeves, his hair covered his eyes, hiding the emotion in his eyes, his mind was racing, and he was uttering words no one would pay attention to, or that he thought no one would pay attention to.

He knew he was being stupid, worrying over nothing, but he could not help it, for it was his job, he had to worry, he had to be the way he was, otherwise someone would get hurt, and that was the one I got he intended not to do, he knew he hurt people, he knew he upset others, and they upset him, but he had to do his job, much like they had to do theirs. He would sit and watch them, laugh and bind, and get along, and despite his jealousy, he wouldn't ever say anything, he would sit in silence, in the dark, mind racing, eyes aching to let go of the tears, but he couldn't bring himself to let go, he had to hold on, to be strong, to be the one who pretended he was fine, because if he didn't, he'd make a mistake, mess up, and ruin everything. He didn't want to ruin any more than he already had.

He knew they hated him, he knew they wouldn't listen, they only tuned in when he was being really negative, which he tried no to be, around them at least, he'd just stay quiet, not let them know what he was going through, or what they made him feel. If he let his emotions get in the way, who knows how badly that would go.

Would they even notice if he left? Would they notice the pain if he said anything? Would they even care?

No.

He knew the answers, so he didn't know why he kept asking himself those questions, he kept beating himself up over things he couldn't change, or that he did without thinking, thinks he knew they hated, that he learned to hate about himself.

Day after day, he would pace in his room, thinking about something he'd said, or done, day after day he would tug on his hair, scratch at his wrists, keep his head down, cover his face, his hands, use makeup to cover the truth, hide away because he didn't want them to know. If they knew... If they knew, they'd hate him more, despise him.

Watching and listening only does so much, he learns about them, they know nothing about him other than his job, which gave him his name. They were all so loved, so valued, special, and he was nothing. Why was he here? He didn't know. Nor would he ever, he served very little purpose, if he wasn't a main side, it would have been so much better for them all. He just ruined it all, despite what he was told, he ruined it all, all the time.

He wanted to leave, but it served to do more harm than good, but he didn't deserve to be a main side, he needed to escape, his room being the only place he could escape to, but at some point, though he didn't know why, he would be dragged out, forced to spend time with people who hated him, who didn't want him. They pretended to tolerate him, but even then, he could see through their lies, they couldn't even tolerate him. Why should they, he was him and didn't belong.

"Why can't you just go away?"

"I don't know! You think I don't want to? You think I haven't tried?"

He took a glance at their faces, shock covered all four, he sunk out, unable to take the suffocating weight that landed on his chest. Why did he say that, why did he give them a glimpse at who he was?